


with the ocean in our arms, kiss your eyes and kiss your palms

by carrythesky



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bonding, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Kissing, Slow Burn, Space Road Trip, the complete idiot's guide to Feelings™: a novel by Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-10-27 23:07:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10818660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrythesky/pseuds/carrythesky
Summary: Cassian’s eyes are fire and starlight, the curve of his mouth not quite a smile but Jyn recognizes trouble when she sees it.This is a rebellion, isn’t it?she’d asked the first time she met him, and she sees it reflected in his eyes now, a silent promise scorching the distance between them.I rebel.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mollivanders](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollivanders/gifts).



> Rebelcaptain May the Fourth exchange fic for mollivanders, who requested: “they all live au - jyn and cassian on the run from the empire on their own (space road trip fic anyone?)” I adored this prompt and I really hope I was able to do it justice. HAPPY STAR WARS DAY! :)

When Jyn is nine years old, barely six months spent under Saw’s tutelage, she beats one of the young recruits within an inch of his life. He mutters something under his breath as she’s walking past him one morning, something about her father and _letting the Empire get the better of him, what a coward -_

 

She tackles him to the ground before she can blink, fire roaring in her veins and fists as she hits him again and again and she doesn’t stop, not even when his nose _cracks_ and warmth spatters from the place his face used to be.

 

(It takes two of Saw’s partisans to pull her off him.)

 

They put her in solitary for a few days after this. “For your own protection,” Saw tells her, the look in his eyes something between awe and fear.

 

She decides right then and there that she loathes the phrase.

 

\-----

 

After Scarif - (Jyn laughs at that word, _after_ , because she’d knelt on that burning beach fully prepared to die, to let all afters die with her-)

 

After Scarif, things get messy.

 

“You six,” Mon Mothma tells them on Echo Base, commanding and ethereal as ever, “are being hunted. The Empire will stop at nothing until they find you. The likelihood of that happening increases exponentially if you leave this base.”

 

“She’s right,” K-2 says, earning a sharp glance from Jyn.

 

Bodhi looks uneasy. “All due respect, ma’am, but the fight’s not on this base, it’s out _there_ -”

 

“This is for your own protection,” the senator cuts in politely, all politician, and Jyn bristles. _Where were you_ , she thinks, remembering a council all-too willing to run and hide, turn tail in the face of the Empire’s most devastating threat to the galaxy, _where was your protection when we made the decision to risk our lives for your cause?_

 

Baze seems to share the sentiment. “We are not cowards,” he growls. “We did not come this far so you could ask us to bury our heads in the kriffing ice.”

 

“Baze,” Chirrut warns low in his throat, fingers curling firmly over the mercenary’s shoulder, and Jyn’s heart clenches at the sight. Nothing has changed since Scarif, she thinks, nothing, _nothing_ , and if this - hunkering down on this icy rock, hiding and withering into oblivion - is the cost of her father’s sacrifice, of everything the six of them have endured and survived together, if this is the cost of _victory_ -

 

“What, then?” she asks. “What would you see us do?”

 

Mon Mothma smiles, soft and sad. “I would see you _endure_.”

 

No one speaks for several moments. Jyn feels the weight of someone’s gaze on her face, knows whose it is even before she turns her head.

 

Cassian’s eyes are fire and starlight, the curve of his mouth not quite a smile but Jyn recognizes trouble when she sees it. _This is a rebellion, isn’t it?_ she’d asked the first time she met him, and she sees it reflected in his eyes now, a silent promise scorching the distance between them.

 

_I rebel._

 

\-----

 

The council doesn’t expressly _forbid_ them to leave the base in the weeks following Scarif, having firsthand experience with Rogue One’s _it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission_ style of operation. Instead, the six of them are scattered across various divisions and departments, each kept busy with a steady stream of menial short-term assignments. Jyn exists in a near-constant state of restlessness, but she _tries_ , she really does, because she’s a part of something now and she didn’t embark on a death-defying mission, survive against all odds, to abandon the cause because she dislikes following orders.

 

She tries, but old habits apparently die hard.

 

The first time she tries to leave the base without permission, she doesn’t even make it to the hangar. “You couldn’t have gone very far, anyways,” says the entirely _too_ cheerful sergeant escorting her back to the barracks. “The hyperdrive motivators on the BTL-S3s tend to be a bit shoddy.” Jyn scowls, hands curling reflexively into fists at her sides - three weeks with the Rebel Alliance has done little to curb her tendency to hit first and ask questions _never_ \- but then her father’s face is swimming behind her eyes, _Jyn, my stardust_ , and for awhile after that she keeps her head down and attends to her orders.

 

“You, Jyn Erso,” Draven tells her in the briefing room the next time she attempts to leave, “ _you_ are going to be the death of me.”

 

Jyn tries a new strategy this time - saying absolutely nothing at all - and it seems to work because the general heaves a massive sigh and informs her she is to report to hangar bay seven in the morning for a patrolling mission off-base. She has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep a smile from splitting her face, she’s so ecstatic. Never mind that it’s _Hoth_ and that the landscape is about as thrilling to look at as a tauntaun’s backside, it’s a mission out in the world and Jyn will take it, run, sprint, _leap_ with it.

 

It’s typical for her to go a few days without seeing any of the Rogue One crew, so she’s surprised to find Cassian suiting up outside her designated Y-wing. He’s reaching for his flight helmet as she approaches, turned away from her slightly, and she pauses, uncertainty coiling tightly in her gut as she remembers the last time they were in each other’s presence for more than a few minutes, bruised and battered and kneeling in the sand, fire and light on the horizon and his arms cinching around her, _welcome home_ -

 

“What are you doing here?” she manages to sputter.

 

He whips around to face her and holy _hell_ , the mischievous glint in his eye sets something sparking low and warm in her gut.

 

“I called in a favor,” he says with a smirk. “Besides, you need a pilot.”

 

“Was Bodhi busy?” she deadpans and he laughs, sharp and clear. _Danger danger danger_ her heart thuds against her ribcage, but she hauls herself up the ladder and into the gunner’s seat all the same.

 

They’ve barely gone two leagues off-base when the explosions start.

 

\-----

 

(Later, they’ll learn that the base’s location was compromised by a new form of Imperial technology, a probe droid that can track energy signatures. They’ll learn that after Scarif, the impounded shuttle Rogue One had used to bypass the shield gate had been seized to test prototypes of these droids, and that several _thousand_ were subsequently deployed across the galaxy, searching, _hunting_ for six very unique energy wave signatures-)

 

Now, all they know is Mon Mothma’s voice over the comm, a thin shimmer of static as she orders them to evacuate the planet.

 

“What about the others-” Jyn chokes out at the same time Cassian asks, “status of Rogue One?”

 

 _They’re together and they’re alive_ , she replies, and all Jyn can think of is what the senator had said to all of them during that first briefing after Scarif -

 

_(I would see you endure)._

 

Jyn watches Echo Base fall away, a starburst of flame and ash, and thinks _not like this, not like this._

 

\-----

 

They limp along for a few days before the hyperdrive finally conks out, spitting them out into the velvet darkness of Outer Rim Space near Tatooine.

 

“Looks like this is home for awhile,” Cassian says from the pilot’s seat, sounding as bone-weary as Jyn feels. The planet looms just outside the viewport, an orb of dust and sand, and she thinks of another desert world, one with a crater where its capital city once stood -

 

Her fingers clench around the crystal that hangs in the hollow of her throat. Chirrut’s voice is in her head, _the strongest stars have hearts of kyber_ , and judging by the Death Star-sized lump in her throat, she figures hers must be made of something else entirely.

 

( _I miss them_ , she thinks, _stars, I miss them_.)

 

The threat analysis grid equipped in this particular BTL-S3 is unreliable at best and completely non-functional at worst, and as such does not detect the approaching class-three sandstorm that forces them to make planetfall several leagues from their intended destination of Mos Eisley. It’s a rough landing and Cassian’s breath is ragged by the time they’re on the ground.

 

“This ship,” he rasps, “is a piece of _mierda_.”

 

“Oh, switch off,” Jyn fires back, struggling to breathe evenly against the adrenaline pounding in her chest. “It’s gotten us this far, hasn’t it?”

 

He glances up sharply at the word _us_ , looks like he wants to say something in response but he doesn’t. Ice-cold guilt floods through her - _he regrets coming with me, leaving the others behind_ \- and she feels herself shut down, burying the rest of the thought before it can take shape.

 

They hunker down for the night in uneasy silence. The interior of the ship is little more than a pilot and gunner’s seat, less than ideal conditions for sleeping, but Jyn’s unconscious almost as soon as she closes her eyes.

 

\-----

 

A dream. A memory -

 

She’s underground, curled against the far wall of the cave and _waiting_. The air is strange down here, almost stale, and she suddenly aches to be above ground, breathe the lush-sweet petrichor of the surrounding hills and fields -

 

( _be strong, my heart, my stardust, be strong and remember those who love you-_ )

 

There is a loud groan of metal as the hatch above her head yawns open. She tilts her head up, squinting against the sudden brightness, and she’s -

 

\- kneeling in the sand under a canvas of endless blue. _Cassian_ , is her first thought, and she twists, cranes her neck wildly to find him standing a short distance away along the shoreline, the lean length of his body bisected by a curve of horizon in the distance.

 

“Where are we?” she shouts, even though she already knows.

 

His eyes are tired, _tired_ as he turns towards her. “Home,” he says.

 

Behind him, the sky explodes.

 

\-----

 

As always when torn from sleep by a dream of Scarif, she jerks awake in a cold sweat, feeling like she’s shed a second skin, like maybe it wasn’t a dream at all. “Cassian?” she gasps into the hazy half-darkness, and her nerves sing with something like relief as she hears him shift in his seat.

 

“I’m here,” he says, and even husky with sleep his voice is steady like an anchor, like a promise. She feels small, suddenly, caged beneath the weight of what that promise might entail and she ducks her head, bites her lip hard to choke down the sob building at the base of her throat. _Maybe_ , she thinks, _maybe I’m not meant to endure, maybe I was never meant to survive that beach -_

 

There’s a rustling from behind her and she flinches as warm fingers skim the surface of her knuckles, thread through her own. Jyn doesn’t turn her head but she can feel his eyes on her, and that’s when she starts sobbing, real, true cries that rack her entire frame and leave her shuddering against her seat. All she knows is the ache in her chest and Cassian’s hand intertwined with hers, and she clutches it tightly like he’s the thing that’s tethering her to solid ground.

 

“I’m here, Jyn,” he whispers over and over as his thumb movies in circles against her own, “I’m here, you’re not alone.”

 

_Welcome home._

 

She’s not sure when she stops crying, only that her eyes sting and her lungs burn and she’s utterly exhausted. As her eyes flutter open-closed-open, she realizes she’s never thought of home as a some _one_ instead of a some _place_ , but here in the shadow-soft interior of their Y-wing, on the run from the Empire along the edge of the galaxy and holding Cassian Andor’s hand like she holds her heart, she thinks that maybe she should start.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (full disclosure: I don’t actually know much about the Star Wars universe aside from the movies and what I’ve cherry-picked from Wookiepedia, so if something seems wrong/weird, that’s why!)

They reach Mos Eisley shortly after dawn, docking in one of the spaceport’s smaller, more discreet bays. Jyn is careful not to look at Cassian as they make their way towards the city’s main strip. Distantly she wonders if this is who she is now, someone who lets their guard down without reserve, sobs their soul bare in the presence of another human being, and her stomach knots tight with simultaneous shame and guilt. There are things she knows she should say- _thank you, I’m sorry_ \- but in her head the words ring hollow, not _enough_ , so she sets her jaw and keeps her lips pressed firmly together.

 

It takes them the better part of a day to find a functioning and relatively inexpensive hyperdrive motivator. Most of Cassian’s contacts have gone underground in the wake of the Empire’s assault on Hoth, leaving the two of them to try their luck haggling the local merchants, and by the time they find one willing to do business - an Anzat operating a stand at the far end of the square - Jyn’s mood has devolved from sour to downright irate.

 

“You’re in luck,” the merchant tells them, tugging at the tentacle-esque filaments that sprout beneath his cheekbones. “Most of us won’t trade for credits out here-”

 

“We’ve got fifteen hundred,” Jyn cuts in, cringing inwardly even as the words fly from her mouth. Saw taught her better than this, _desperate hands are empty hands_ , but right now all she can bring herself to care about is finding a motivator that will get her and Cassian off this _kriffing_ planet, trading rules and etiquette be damned.

 

The Anzat smirks. “You always let your little wife do the haggling, _pateessa_?” he directs at Cassian. “Gonna burn through all your money if you’re not careful, not that I’m complaining-”

 

Cassian is a blur of motion in Jyn’s periphery; before she has time to open her mouth in retort or even blink he’s lunging forward, hand fisting tight around the merchant’s shirt and yanking him halfway over the stand. “This woman,” he hisses through his teeth, “could make bantha fodder out of the both of us in about five seconds flat, so I think you’re the one who should be careful, _friend_.”

 

Jyn’s more than a little stunned but then her brain is kicking into gear, _move, NOW_ , and she grabs Cassian’s arm, pulls him sharply back. “What the hell-” she starts to say but he wrenches free from her grasp, stalking away in the opposite direction and _oh_ , she hasn’t wanted to shoot someone this badly in a long while.

 

The Anzat is wide-eyed, staring at Jyn as if transfixed. She straightens up, brings her right hand to rest comfortably on the blaster slung from her hip -

 

“Fifteen hundred, was it?” he says, a little too brightly. “That’s a bit light, even for an older Koensayr model, but I’m feeling unusually generous today…”

 

It doesn’t take her long to find Cassian after that. He’s sulking in the alleyway connecting the merchant’s strip and docking bays, and her carefully-prepared rebuke dissolves on her tongue as he snaps his gaze to meet hers. She feels like the look on his face, confusion and anger and loneliness all tangled up and brimming just beneath the surface, ready to ignite. Her fingers twitch as she remembers the feeling of his hand pressed to hers, his voice an anchor in the darkness -

 

She sighs. “Bantha fodder?”

 

Cassian’s relief is almost palpable as he smiles, mouth curving like a new moon. “It’s been awhile since I’ve threatened someone properly. I’m a little rusty.”

 

She hums and leans against the wall. “I can handle myself, you know.”

 

“I know. I’m sorry...” he trails off and Jyn has to suppress the strange and sudden urge to laugh, because: clutching hands one moment and dancing around each other’s words the next?

 

“Save the apology,” she says, feeling her own lips twitch into a smirk. “We’re in this mess for the long haul, right? You might need it later.”

 

Cassian laughs and for the first time since Hoth, Jyn feels like she can _breathe_.

 

\-----

 

They settle into some semblance of a routine. Shortly after Tatooine they ditch the Y-wing in favor of a Corellian freighter found abandoned in a junkyard on one of the system’s nameless moons, and for the next few weeks they only make planetfall when necessary. Jyn assumes this vagabond existence with relative ease. She’s done it before, after all, a blaster in one hand and a knife in the other, only this time there’s someone watching her back. She’s still not used to _people sticking around when things go bad_ , but as the days drift past it becomes harder to convince herself she’d rather be alone.

 

She’d like to think it’s a defense mechanism, gravitating towards Cassian out of necessity rather than any real desire. She’d like to think that, but one night as she’s trying to sleep she catches herself recreating the contour of his face in her mind, wondering if his skin is as soft as it looks and what those angled cheekbones might feel like beneath her fingers -

 

( _Who are you_ , she asks herself, burying her face in her pillow, _and what the_ hell _have you done with Jyn Erso?_ )

 

\-----

 

Cassian is no stranger to space travel, having traversed half the galaxy on missions for the Rebellion, but Jyn is quick to discover she’s not so adept. Their freighter is an upgrade in size from the Y-wing, but she still feels claustrophobic, restlessly prowling its narrow length when sleep evades her. She often finds herself lingering in front of Cassian’s room, hand poised in place to knock but she never does, she never does.

 

“You’re up early,” he greets her the morning after one of these sleepless nights, ducking into the cockpit where she’s checking frequencies for news of Rogue One. The secure Alliance channels are all static now but Jyn still holds her breath as she scrolls through, hoping hoping _hoping_ so hard it makes her chest ache. _Attachment is weakness_ , a small voice bites in the back of her mind, _the only person you can rely on is yourself, survive alone or not at all_ -

 

She inhales deeply, flexes her fingers a few times and the bitter thoughts evaporate. “Couldn’t go back to sleep,” she says, glancing at Cassian as he slides into the co-pilot’s seat next to her. “Still not quite sure how to process night from day up here.”

 

He nods. “I’m starting to feel it too.”

 

Jyn allows herself a rare smile as she leans back in her seat. “But you’re always so _cheerful_ in the morning.”

 

“ _Some_ of us prefer to sleep in,” Cassian retorts with a grin of his own, then inclines his head towards the comm panel. “Any luck?”

 

Her smile falters. “No. Nothing but silence.”

 

“They’re out there,” he says, catching her gaze and the pure, unflinching conviction in his eyes sends gooseflesh rippling across her arms. She believes him, believes in this moment that rebellions might not be the only things built on hope.

 

He’s leaning out of his seat and Jyn notices just how close he is, close enough for her to count the spaces between his lashes, the laugh lines bracketing his eyes. His hair is falling across his face and before she can tell herself it’s a bad idea she’s reaching towards him -

 

The proximity alarm isn’t _loud_ , just a short succession of beeps indicating they’re approaching an astronomical body, but it’s enough to make them both jump in their seats, the moment splintered. Cassian’s lips pinch into a line, the look on his face not quite disappointment but it still feels like a gut-punch.

 

 _I can fix this_ , Jyn thinks, fingers moving deftly over the control panel to bring the freighter out of hyperspace. The forest moon of Ana’terru materializes outside the viewport, a green-blue orb nestled amongst the stars on the cusp of Wild Space, and her pulse thunders in her ears as she takes them into its atmosphere. _I can fix this._

 

Cassian attempts to make himself scarce as soon as they land, mumbling something about _checking the hyperdrive mechanism_ as he launches out of his seat, but Jyn shoots an arm out, grabs his wrist to stop him.

 

“Wait,” she says. “Please.”

 

He twitches against her grasp and her fingers loosen slightly, feather-light against his pulsepoint. _Please_ , she pleads with him silently, _please, I don’t want to be alone anymore, let me try to make this right-_

 

“Jyn-” His voice is hoarse, uncertain, and she carefully skims the length of his palm in response, threads her fingers through his.

 

“I’m here,” she says, echoing the words he’d said to her on Tatooine. “I’m here.”

 

\-----

 

The clearing in which they’ve landed is almost entirely surrounded by dense forest, save the north-facing side which gives way to a cliff face overlooking a vast body of water. Jyn leads him in this direction, palms clammy and heart racing and she has precisely _no_ idea what she’s doing, but she keeps his hand firmly entwined with hers. They’re on the precipice of something here, something bright and warm and _new_ and she refuses to run from it any longer.

 

 _Be brave, my stardust_ , Galen’s voice echoes in her ears.

 

 _You taught me how, Papa_.

 

They reach the edge of the cliff and Jyn’s breath catches in her throat at the view. Ocean stretches in every direction towards the horizon, transparent as glass. Even from this height she can discern the various lifeforms drifting beneath its surface, fish with scales that glint iridescent and patches of algae glowing like jewels beneath the refracted sunlight.

 

“Well,” she breathes. “That’s something.”

 

“Yeah,” Cassian says and she knows he’s looking at her. “It is.”

 

Jyn turns to face him. There’s a faint breeze teasing strands of hair across his face but his eyes are fixed on her, burning as they always do, a force of nature, and a peal of nervous laughter bubbles up and out of her throat. “You scare the hell out of me,” she says. “I hope you know that.”

 

Cassian steps towards her. “Noted, and likewise. I’ve never been afraid of anything like I was of you on that beach. But-” he gives her hand a gentle squeeze - “ _la esperanza es más fuerte que el miedo_. Hope is stronger than fear.” He smiles sadly. “My mother used to tell me that when I was younger, and I felt it on Scarif. With you.”

 

“I think I know what you mean,” Jyn whispers, blinking hard against the heat stinging behind her eyes. She’s not sure who leans in first, only that Cassian is closer to her now than he’s ever been and the intensity with which he’s staring at her mouth stirs something warm in the pit of her stomach. His lips brush against hers and that’s when she smiles, hooks her free hand at the nape of his neck and closes the space between them.

 

\-----

 

A memory. A dream -

 

“What happens now?” Cassian asks as they kneel together on the beaches of Scarif. There’s no fear in his voice, only hope and she smiles as she tilts her gaze upwards. A war is raging above them but somewhere beyond that, beyond the warships and starfighters (and one very unique impounded Imperial shuttle that is currently en route to rescue them), somewhere beyond rebellions and empires and all sense of right and wrong, light and dark, the stars are waiting.

 

She can feel Cassian’s heartbeat kicking against her chest and she pulls him even closer, curling both arms around his neck and pressing her face to the soft juncture of his shoulder. _I’m ready_ , she thinks. _I have everything I need._

 

Her eyes close.

 

“We go home,” she says.


End file.
